


A Unique Brand of Happiness

by Emeka



Series: mega-fucked stuff [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Bad Parenting, Bad Sex, Bestiality, Cuntboy, Dissociation, Dubious Consent, Grooming, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Miscarriage, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Physical Abuse, Self-Harm, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, dude gets cucked by his dog basically, receiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-09-16 06:35:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16948845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeka/pseuds/Emeka
Summary: Tags pretty much say it all, honestly. Heavy focus on the unhealthy coping in the end of this chapter, to persist through the next two, in what the protagonist views as an empowering experience.





	1. Chapter 1

He dully considers how his choices in life have led him to this point. 

His home life sucked, which is probably the root of the whole thing. His shrieking alcoholic banshee ma and his belt-happy mouthbreather pa. Add bratty siblings and stirr, then set in an oven of abject poverty.

When one of the local bad boys started hanging around the backyard when he did laundry, he should have known better and told him to scram. But he'd been lonely on top of general teenage rebellion, and the attention pleased him, all the more so because it was exotic. It wasn't like it was just his neighbor coming over to say howdy-do. This bad boy smelled like sweat and freedom, spoke crudely, swore constantly, and had no qualms about the dried mud caked to his boots crumbling off all over his just-swept porch.

Despite all that, he thought he could see--wanted to see--a kindness, like he was one of those jerk with a heart of gold types. The bad boy asked about his family, called them names right along with him, agreed with how put-upon he was, and painted him a picture of his life in words. He ran away from home at fourteen--about your age, right?--and supported himself doing odd jobs (of a cryptically defined dubious nature) until he found a place of his own, and a dog, a big ol' dane he called Duke, to share it with. Sometimes he went riding at night, him and the dog, to feel the wind in his hair to get him drowsy, and promised to take him sometime.

No one told the bad boy what to do, or went after him for anything. He lived his life how he pleased, went to bed late and woke up later, and did his chores at his own leisure. A self-made man, in his thirties.

The freedom he described was exciting, and his presence was physically effecting. Contemplating the cleft in his chin, or the worn lines in his face, often made him feel warm in his belly. Every incidental touch--of his knee, of his hair--made it better, or worse, he wasn't sure. 

Once as they sat on the back porch together, the bad boy sat a few steps below him and stroked his bare foot. Such a little thing drove him nearly to distraction with heat and nerves. Ma was asleep, and the old man at work, but his siblings could come out and see--they usually didn't because the bad boy scared them, but if they did? Or if a neighbor came out? They had no privacy fence. 

He was fourteen, and inexperienced, but knew this sort of touching is unallowed. The bad boy moved up to his knee, the delicate flesh beneath, slowly slowly, almost casually, up the hemline of his skirt to his inner thigh.

A mixture of fear, uncertainty, arousal, and a desire to please rooted him to the spot. 

All at once, it seemed, the bad boy stopped chatting, and grabbed his hips, pulling them up to the edge of the step. "Just be _cool_ ," he said, when he made some gesture of resistance, and bowed his head between his legs.

Impossible to be cool when he felt so hot. The bad boy yanked his panties aside and glued his whole mouth onto him. All he could do was cover his mouth against the sudden sensation and try not to scream as his first assisted orgasm was quickly drawn from him.

His jittering legs fell open to each side. The feeling was so good and sweet, better than anything he had ever felt by himself. His whole body was awash with tingling warmth. The bad boy kept licking, right over his poor defenseless clit that could hardly resist this sudden onslaught of pleasure.

He felt like a puppet with its strings being pulled. Being ate out made him helpless; all he could do was react in response to what was being done to him. His back bowed, his toes clenched, and he came. He came so much he hadn't thought it possible. By himself once was always enough, and he'd never been tempted for more with how sensitive he got. 

"You should stay with me," the bad boy said when he finally stopped, smiling, the lower half of his face all soaked.

He mumbled something, too stunned to speak yet. His body was whirring, quivering, and trying to sit up hurt. The sight of his tender sex so used, all wet and red and puffy, distressed him a little for some reason. Even his clit looked abnormal, erect like a miniature penis.

He cried a little in the bathroom later, then felt like a baby. All it had done was feel good. His pussy was still buzzing and so wet it smeared all over his inner thighs.

That night in bed he thought about how good it felt as he touched himself and came so hard he felt a sweet pleasure reverberating even from his vagina proper, which he never really played with. A sense of shame swept over him immediately after, but that by itself wasn't exactly new.

The morning after he felt better, and silly all over again. Nothing bad had come of it, so... be cool.

He was cool. The bad boy came to see him again, but did not touch him, even though he was better prepared. He only chatted like normal, and repeated his suggestion.

The rest of the week he thought about it. Well, what really was there for him here? Just a dump where no one cared about him. If he left, he could be free. The bad boy could take him away, show him the things he saw and did, and if the other part continued, the sex, he thought he could get used to it.

The end of the week he agreed, and that was that.

If his parents or anyone else back home cared, he never heard about it. And he couldn't stop himself from checking the news now and again, half-hoping for something about a missing boy. He wasn't really surprised though. He knew where he stood.

His new life was so new and exciting he couldn't think of anything else awhile. The bad boy took him on his bike when he brought him to his new home, so for two hours he held on tight to his solid body, cheek pressed against old leather. The vibrations purred their way through the thin barrier of his panties and filled his pussy the wetter it got. Twice he came, trying not to let on, because it was kind of embarrassing.

"A good ride, ain't she?" the bad boy said in what seemed to him a knowing tone of voice when after they arrived 'home' to a small house.

He agreed as flippantly as possible, hoping the smeared moist area on the seat just looked like sweat. 

After the bike was put away in the garage he explored his new house. An enormous dog greeted him at the door, and cautiously sniffed his arm--Duke, presumably. A stupid name for a dog, like all other macho or prissy pet names. His sheer size was intimidating, but his eyes were so sad and woebegone.

He briefly noted his cropped ears and tried not to frown. It's already been done, so don't make a big deal about it. Be cool.

The house itself was nothing special as to size or anything, but it was blessedly quiet and he's allowed to do as he likes. He stayed up to three in the morning reluctantly drinking cheap beer (can't stand that smell, like his old lady's room) with him before clumsily giving his first blowjob and falling asleep despite himself. 

The bad boy went to some kind of work in the afternoon, leaving him to amuse himself. He traveled a few blocks around as he walked Duke, taking note of stores and streets. It's a lower middle-class neighborhood which is about what he expected from a kinda seedy guy living alone. It even looked a little nicer than his home neighborhood.

It's macaroni and ice cream for dinner, then the bad boy came home to take him out on his bike again. He shyly agreed.

His body reacted much the same as it had the previous time, but calmer, more even. Maybe it was an effect of the cool nighttime air, or the big empty sky, which has always made him feel lonely. The trip was quiet, not a word between them, and by the time they return home he felt a mild pleasure thrumming inside him beneath a layer of sleepiness.

The bad boy laid him out on the bed, spread his legs open, and thrust his cock inside him. It hurt a little, but he was so relaxed and hot it wasn't by much. The bad boy kissed him all over his face and neck as he pumped inside him, as he leaned over him on his forearms. It felt good but the bad boy came before he did then rolled off.

It was all so sudden he didn't feel much of anything, emotionally. His body felt frustrated, but he wasn't in the mood to top himself off. He rolled over on his side and went to sleep.

In the morning it occurred to him they should have used a condom, both because he's more in his right head, and because the bad boy is already pinning him on his stomach and sticking it in him again. The bad boy did not respond to any of his questions, but his cock felt so long and hot in his cunt that he couldn't put up much fight against him. 

He was so close that he actually whimpered when the bad boy spunked inside him, and god he could feel it plastering his insides and squirting back out... then _he_ pulled out. 

The bad boy went outside. He unhappily tried to clean himself out.

The bad boy returned with lunch, some sandwiches from a cafe. "Look," he said, "don't worry about condoms. It's just, they feel like shit, you know? You don't want me to feel like shit, right?"

He dubiously agreed; but it's still possible.

"We'll just use the rhythm method."

It would be better to have figured that out beforehand, but the mood was too good to argue. Duke sat his chin on his leg under the table and silently begged with his eyes. He snuck him a piece of ham without looking, and felt his cold trembling nose huffing a little, then his muzzle gently picking the meat between his fingers.

They go to the library then the park. Book in hand, he tried to figure out his cycle while the bad boy played fetch with the dog. He's always been a little unpredictable so he's not sure how safe what he worked out is; in the end, he really would feel more at ease with a barrier.

That night as they settled into bed, the bad boy taking his cock out again, he suggested that if wearing a condom felt unpleasant, maybe he could come outside instead?

The bad boy looked at him for a long time, with an expression that suggested he thought he was perhaps mentally challenged, then popped him across the face.

Suddenly he's facing the opposite wall, his cheek burning. Getting hit wasn't new to him at all, but it was unexpected. What happened? he wondered shortly before he stopped thinking much of anything at all.

The bad boy fucked him, and this time it did hurt. His body just wasn't ready. His eyes teared up a little although what he really wanted to do was bawl. All the times his pa had belted him, or his ma smacked him around, had gotten him used to a certain kind of pain. He had never known before it was possible to hurt like that, inside himself.

He stayed still and let him finish, then slumped off afterwards to the bathroom to clean up. Watching his body move was like controlling a robot. He looked at himself in the mirror and pinched his cheeks and the insides of his arms until he felt more inside his skin. 

The bad boy was his usual self the next morning, and brought back not only lunch, but some cake and wine. It seemed wiser to go along.

The cake was so sweet it made him sick, and the wine went straight to his head. He has never been interested in alcohol but cups kept getting put in his hands. Even the wine was like drinking dessert.

He laid down on the couch and let everything swim around him. Please don't barf. Duke lay down beside him, like he was trusting him not to vomit too. He stroked behind his ears, and on his big flat head you could balance a cup on. It distracted him when he felt somewhere below his legs being spread open.

His life was good when it was good and bad when it was bad. It was certainly free. He did as he liked most of the day, and all the bad boy asked in return was some company. It wasn't even sex sometimes. Sometimes they went out to eat, or the movies, or walked Duke out to the park--those were his favorites.

It more than made up for the other parts, the times he felt he was going out of his mind he was so untethered, a constant two seconds from actually going insane, that hazy outside feeling that had him scratching up his arms.

The bad boy could be short-tempered, especially when he drank--and he didn't like that at all, far too much like his old lady--but he didn't do anything he wasn't already used to. It's even better, actually. The bad boy only hit him once or twice, only when provoked, only with his fists. Ma could turn into a regular boxer just by looking at him.

Maybe his new life wasn't everything he hoped for... but it was still an improvement.

Then his stomach started to swell.

It did not surprise him. It was bound to happen. Still, he felt bitterly disappointed by it. It will just make things worse for him.

The bad boy was not happy when he told him. Not even just in general, but not happy with him, specifically. As though he had gotten pregnant on purpose. 

One person was happy about it, though. Duke seemed to realize through some animal instinct, or maybe by smelling his hormones or something, that he was carrying. He was underfoot like a cat after the first few weeks past his likely conception, quite silly for such a big dog. Everywhere he went, Duke had to be.

And one night after drinking the bad boy became incensed by the sight of his baby bump, even as small and inoffensive as it was. He grabbed his arm, tightened, made him yelp--then hollered himself.

Duke had nipped warningly at his ass. His normally placid face crumpled at the nose, and his growl sounded like a rusty motor.

The bad boy scolded him but very carefully backed away, until Duke relaxed and became once again a sort of doofy dog.

He appreciated the gesture, of course, but was not impressed by its lateness. Then again, Duke was after all only a dog, ultimately, who as far as he knew was raised in relative love and comfort by his master. And once he had the baby... if he did...

But the bad boy had a plan for that too.

"Drink this... and this... and this."

For once he drank eagerly because the truth of the matter was that he didn't want the baby either, and wasn't very picky about how he might get rid of it. Of course there's a chance the baby might be born anyway, but at that point he'd just give it away.

It's a selfish way of thinking that pricks at him a little, but he felt justified when his third month ended with him having a serious case of cramps that made him all sweaty and shakey. Even easier when nothing he saw in the toilet looked like a baby to him; just a big blood clot. He flushed the toilet and went on with his life.

The bad boy was especially sweet with him for a while after this (two weeks and a day--but who was keeping track?) until he decided the counters looked like shit because if you squinted with the light on you could see faint soap lines. 

He didn't take it personally, against himself or his cleaning. He is pretty bad at the detail work (and it would have been something else if not this... right?). 

The days went by in a cycle of ups and downs for eight months. And today this is where he finds himself, staring at the wall, laying naked on top the kitchen table, spooge leaking from his cunny, wrists and ankles tied to the legs, and the bad boy has done perhaps his most insufferable thing yet by deciding to leave him here to go drink with his friends.

Luckily there's enough pull on the ropes that his circulation won't get cut off. He's gotten used to looking on the bright side of things. If he wants to, he could take a nap.

At least it will make the time pass quicker. So he softens his gaze, and his mind, in hopes that he'll drowse off. He is actually feeling quite comfortable basking in the noon sun until something cold against his lower labia startles the hell out of him.

He panics for a moment, struggling against his ties, but the sniffling huffing sensation is a familiar one. It's just the dog. Well, 'just' is a bit of an understatement, but at least it's not a person.

"Knock it off, Duke," he says in his sternest voice, but Duke doesn't so much as pause. Moving doesn't do much, and the rope isn't loose enough to kick back. His voice is really all he has to go by, but--nothing doing. He wonders what has him so interested. The smell? Since dogs try to stick their noses in people's crotches all the time, that's probably it.

So a little sniffing he's resigned to. But then a big broad slobbery-wet tongue licks him from clit to opening, and he struggles anew until his ankles feel like the skin is being rubbed off them, Duke following his desperately wriggling pussy with hard long licks.

It's starting to feel good. The stimulus itself, his body's frustration, and the memory of the first and last time the bad boy ate him out, all combine into a reluctantly enjoyable heat in his gut and cunt.

He's getting all soppy between his legs with dog saliva and his own growing wetness. The messiness is exciting. It's what sex to him has always seemed like it should be at its basest. What kind of mixture is trickling down his thigh?

In a few moments he realizes he can come if he wants to. He doesn't, but he does. His first experience had been so good, but it was all he's had. It's not fair to be given only a taste of pleasure and then be put into this situation. It's like he's been set-up to fail.

He's wavering on giving in when Duke stops licking him. He feels his warm breath waft against his wet flesh, and hears his nails give a few short clicks on the linoleum.

Then his huge bulk is on him, nails scraping his hips and legs, his short fur coarsely rubbing his skin. It hurts a little, but it's more alarming than anything. Getting eaten out is bad, and that's that, while this is something else, disgusting, morally repugnant, vile--so why this rush of heat?

Duke's doggie dick thrusts aimlessly against his thighs, his butt, before finally landing in the appropriate vicinity where it thrusts between his lips, almost scouring his clit with the heat baking off it. 

Two, three, four misses into his slit before he finds his way in and it stings, but it's a good one, the sweetest penetration he has ever felt. Because he wants it, he's been needing a good fuck ever since he barely gave his virginity in that cheap ten seconds and all the two-pumps that have followed and Duke may be a dog but it could be he's more of a man than his master.

Duke's cock feels so big, bigger and better than the bad boy's ever has. He feels no shame in allowing himself to moan through getting fucked by it; a vicious kind of pleasure, actually. This is what he's been pushed to, and it's not like he can stop it, so why not enjoy?

He comes quickly, hard, and reflexively tries to bear down. But Duke's cock overpowers his clenching pussy muscles and fucks him through his orgasm, driving him up up up for another and another, each burst of heat greater than the last and leaving him half-crazed for more. This is what sex is supposed to be like! He's so drooly and sweaty and messy, barely coherent, and he loves it. 

What is Duke getting out of it, he wonders. Has he fucked bitches before? Does he like his tight little cunt? As an animal, he's probably wanting in some instinctual way to breed him. Maybe that's all he cares about, but it must feel good to him too, even if it's a secondary concern. 

Eventually something bigger and rounder presses against his entrance and is steadily pushed in. He's so relaxed that it only feels like added pressure, until Duke tries to do something acrobatic behind him. Turning around, from what little he knows of dog copulation.

He feels pulsing inside himself. Is Duke coming? He certainly deserves to, and the sensation is kind of soothing. 

He closes his eyes, and breathes deeply, in and out. At the moment he is ecstatically alive and present, his entire body thrumming. There's probably been a disaster made of his sex, but the bad boy will probably think it was all his doing, and that's assuming he even notices. Doubtful, when he seems blind to what a bad lay he is.

For the first time in these eight months, he feels powerful.


	2. Chapter 2

He carries the feeling inside him. It's an odd one, given the rest of his life. He's still getting hit, still getting drunk and fucked, but there's a warm glow inside him.

It feels like superiority. It's the only name he can think to give it, although it's such a stranger to him he's not sure. When his parents beat him, he had felt terrified, enraged, confused, sometimes even deserving. He felt lesser. As he had in the beginning of his relationship with the bad boy.

He's still dependent on the bad boy for food and shelter, so this warm glow might not change much... but mentally, it feels nice to be able to look down on him. To know that he's a pathetic human being. 

And in comparison to what? The dog, of all things... and maybe himself. _He_ certainly isn't knocking up anyone younger than him.

Then, as he does, the bad boy decides to turn around, turn a new leaf for a week or so, and is all mysterious grins and bike rides, like when they first met.

He was afraid this warm glow would fade. Knowing something is short-lived, maybe even entirely fake, is one thing. But what if he was won over? What if he became lesser again? To his relief, it didn't happen. The kind gestures actually seemed servile, simpering, a sad attempt to keep him subservient.

He plays along. Sad or not, it gives him some peace from the alternative. And he's not sure what would happen if his true feelings became obvious.

It's difficult to keep his temper during sex, though. What an obstacle. But he's not quite brave enough to do anything himself, either with the bad boy or Duke. The first time had been nothing he could help or change, so he gave in. He could still think of himself as an acceptable person. Can he make a move on his own?

No. Not yet. No matter how hard he tries to psyche himself up, he can't touch Duke, or try to entice him into doing anything to him. Aside from Duke once again seeming just a doofy dog, it's too much responsibility. He still wants it; man, does he ever. While it still makes him more culpable than he'd like, the only thing he can think of is to set up a scenario that once again makes him helpless.

The way it had been before would be fine, but he'd prefer to be on his back. To see, while he's being taken. To give him bravery.

The easiest way is to be blunt about what he hates. I hate it when you hold me down, or tie me up. I hate it when you leave me alone. Remember the last time you did? Don't do that again.

The bad boy thinks he's so slick. It doesn't take long for him to get tired of his attitude, and he believes he knows how to punish him. Some of it is left to chance, the where and how, but he ends up lucky on that count.

He ends up on his back, wrists tied to the slats of the bed's headboard. It's honestly such a piece of shit that he could break it if he wanted to. There's no base to tie his feet to, which gives him more freedom than he'd like, but the situation is otherwise perfect. The bad boy had even came in him before leaving. The smell or something was probably the catalyst last time, so hopefully it'll work again.

Now finally in position, he still does not call for Duke. The only way he can accept it is if he has no choice. If he actively makes it happen, even--especially?--this close, it's not a neutral event that happened on its own.

Duke comes around eventually, heralded by the sound of his nails clicking on the floor. He stares up at the ceiling, heart racing, as Duke snuffles into one of his hands. He can see him then out of the corner of his eye as he walks around the bed--always the corner. As Duke moves into his view, he turns his head to the side. Whether he looks or not won't make him any more responsible, but he'll feel less a victim. Not that he really is, to his mind, at least in this circumstance with an animal incapable of malice. But he feels more comfortable if he can pretend.

A wet nose touches his feet, and sniffs up his leg. The mattress creaks as Duke climbs on, sniffing higher and higher, up his thigh.

"Bad boy," he murmurs, when it presses against his vulva. Duke pauses a moment, like he recognizes the words, but there's no force to them. He continues sniffing, tickling with his little whiskers. Then he burrows in, pressing his shockingly cold nose in past his lips, and licks.

Duke's tongue is so big it covers easily the breadth of his pussy, from entrance to mound. It lays his clit flat. He was too nervous earlier to feel aroused, but his muscles relax with each lick, except for his arching back and shifting hips. His cunt must be starting to get all plump and juicy on its own; Duke is licking faster, harder, like he's tasting him. It's zinging pleasure all through his body.

His apprehension and excitement quickly culminate in a warm all-over feeling that bears down on his lower belly. His pussy feels like it's gushing open.

Duke will keep licking if he allows it, but right on his clit hurts at the moment. Besides, there's more he wants to get to, and who knows how much time. His thighs close together and pull up. Duke makes a few more attempts to stick his snout between his legs, and tries to climb onto his shins.

Well, that's not exactly right. His penis just jabs against his feet.

Pulling his legs apart makes Duke scramble for purchase--scratching him up a little, remember to clean that later--before landing feet on the bed, his big drooly maw right over his head. And his stiffening dog cock coming out of its sheath, fruitlessly humping the air. 

He couldn't see it while it was fucking him, and it didn't really cross his mind to afterwards. The Duke who fucked him so well and the Duke he plays fetch with are like two different dogs in his mind. Hard not to look a little now. It's weird, like a translucent blue and shiny. Flattish at the tip, not pointed. Huge, though. He really had that in him?

Like before, his hands aren't tied overly tight. It's a muddle with awkward dog legs in the way, but when he pulls his knees up and rocks his hips up, there's enough slack to grab on, leaving his hips tilted up for better access.

Duke doesn't make the connection except accidentally. He keeps trying to stick his paws on him ("ow! down, boy!") and his cock keeps skidding teasingly along his slit. 

It's all worth it when he finally hits home. 

It feels like heaven.

Duke's fat dog cock cleaves slowly into his tiny cunt, so hot, it feels like a fever inside him. He has no choice, he thinks dreamily, moaning freely, no choice but to lay here and get drilled by a dog, nothing he can do even though it's so wrong, god, how can something bad be making him come already?

Waves of heat flood through his cunt, around the object of invasion. If his throat didn't lock-up he'd scream. Duke is still pounding into him, hard and deep at first, then quicker, his hips rapidly pistoning.

Unfortunately, their position is so precarious it's hard to keep him in at this speed, though there is something despairingly pleasurable about it. Each quick fuck that suddenly stuffs him with cock, each hard thrust into his slit, still drives him up closer and closer.

He's filled when he comes again just to have it taken out from him. His teeth grit and grind as he clenches down hard on nothing at all, wetness pulsing out over his ass, wetting the blanket beneath him. It almost hurts. Duke jumps off him to curl up beside him, licking between his legs.

He sighs hard, legs falling and parting. His hips hurt. But he wants more. So much more. Maybe Duke will be up for more when he's done doing whatever dogs do when they lick themselves. Too bad he can't reach any lower. He'd like to slap himself on his vulva, both to get attention and just for the feel of it. It'd be instigating on his part, but his mind is so cloudy he doesn't mind at the moment.

Duke comes around soon, attracted again to the smell between his legs. His cold nose feels amazing.

"Oh, bad boy," he breathes, hips rolling to meet his tongue. It drags a little with each lick. "You can't do that, please don't, don't lick me." His pussy is so loud and sloppy. He can't believe the disgraceful noises it's making. "Oh my god, I can't believe how good you eat pussy. You're getting me all hot--"

He screams as Duke slurps on his cunt, legs tensing and jittering, exploding with sensation. This time when he pulls his legs up, Duke comes up with a thin webbing of juice over his muzzle.

"Don't, don't," he mumbles, even as he assumes position, hips up. His cleft is all puffy and opened up. There's so much slime on his sex and thighs he should be worried. Even the bad boy can only be so oblivious. But it's so good. Good sex feels so good!

Duke's cock locks right into his needy cunt despite his whimpering protests and steadily fucks him into the mattress. His eyes unfocus and cross. All he can pay attention to is getting pounded and mumbling because it makes getting pounded even better. Oh you can't, you can't fuck me, shouldn't put your cock in my pussy, not right, oh god oh god, don't make me come, don't make my pussy come on your doggy cock, please don't make my pussy come!

Unwittingly, like as not, Duke makes him come. He screams, inhales shakily, and screams again with each wave, come gushing from his cunt in time and squirting around each piston of cock. He barely notices when something plugs him up. Harder to ignore Duke wrenching around, but the shifting just twinges a little. There's a throbbing feeling inside, but he's not sure who it's from.

He feels giggly, almost deliriously high, as he settles down. True, he is physically an absolute mess of sweat and come, but emotionally he's never felt better.

Duke stays tied to him for the next twenty minutes. He hums to himself and squeezes and wiggles his hips, coming a few extra times. Smaller than before, but still pretty good while he's got a nice hard dick to clench on. When Duke pulls out finally, he stretches out his aching legs and rolls over. Whatever might happen later, he needs a nap. And if the bad boy is very late coming back, hopefully most of this will dry by then.


	3. Chapter 3

A fit of conscience kept him good for weeks after.

Of course it hadn't been his fault. He'd been tied-up, and could not possibly help responding, when the bad boy wasn't keeping him satisfied. But bestiality is still bestiality.

Then it faded, and came back in fits and starts, between his attempts at experimentation. It was all very funny; for all of it, he's not sure what motivates Duke. In his shy attempts to stroke his penis from the sheath, Duke accepted but did not seem particularly aroused, even if it did come out. He'd curl up, lick it a bit, then doze off.

Maybe that just made things easier. He didn't have to worry about keeping the dog sexually satisfied, or... anything. They got along like always, and Duke never tried to take liberties, with him or anyone else. 

(He had done some very furtive searching on the library computers... in stories both labeled fictional and at least allegedly true, dogs were rapacious horndogs, especially once they fucked a bitch. As he would never in a million years volunteer any information about himself to find out more, the possibilities he's left with is that either Duke is an outlier, or dogs don't care that much about sex.)

Life otherwise continues like it had before. He settles into the monotony of falling into the groove of the bad boy's moods. Go out and make yourself scarce if he's angry-drinking, smile and forgive when he tells you he loves you, more than your family ever did. Careful covering your bruises, one of the neighbors was looking at you odd.

One night he joins him in drinking. It's one of the bad boy's good nights, so he brought home bottles of fruit-flavored vodkas, which he has by now sickly discovered he has a taste for. It doesn't reek the same way as beer, or taste the same. It doesn't make his bile rise. But it doesn't feel good. Drinking or being drunk. It doesn't make him happy.

But for now he has been caught in the razor edge between buzzed and too drunk. He is pleasantly tipsy, though even this feeling is bitter to him. It makes him warm all over. He's not sure what, if anything, he wants to do about it. The bad boy won't be mean to him, but he's not likely to satisfy him either.

He sneaks his fingers between his thighs as they watch late night porn movies. He doesn't really care for these either, pretty twinks getting fucked and always wanting more, big middle-aged men, or all the school scenes. Most of them are just porn with thin props, and the sex is easy, meaningless.

Tonight's is a little different. Two young men, supposed childhood friends discovering their attraction to men, to each other. Another prop, but there's a tenderness in the way they look at each other that's turning him on. He can believe it.

"Have to use the bathroom," he mumbles. He's quite wet at this point and ready to come, but he doesn't want to next to the bad boy.

The bad boy grunts back an answer. Very intent on his porn, is the bad boy; certainly too much to have need of him. When he's sauced like this it's harder for him to get it up anyway.

He takes his leave, and almost trips his first step in, foot jamming right into something. The side of the door bangs into his shoulder before he grabs onto it. The switch is somewhere... here, and the light reveals Duke curled up on the cool tile, looking up at him almost apologetically.

"Dumb dog..." He reaches his foot out to step over him, and closes the door behind himself. The toilet is clean but so dingy and depressing to look at that sitting his butt on the lid feels skeevy anyway.

He closes his eyes and focuses. The genuine pleasure they seemed to feel, the thrill of voyeurism, watching a couple make love, not just another fuck scene. His pussy throbs. He's so close so soon.

Duke stands with all the stumbling clumsiness of an ungainly long-legged dog on a smooth surface. And comes over, tail wagging. Maybe the smell of his hot pussy has him intrigued--especially as this is something they've done before.

Probably he shouldn't. The bad boy is awake in the other room. What if he has to take a piss? It'll probably hurt, doing it on a toilet seat. Duke is so awkward even on a bed.

He still wants to. He's been good for so long. And he's drunk, so it's not his fault... not really.

He scoots himself to the edge of the seat and leans back against the tank. It's about as comfortable as he thought it would be, and will only get worse over time. Duke comes to sniff at his thighs, his panties--he pulls them down, but pushes his head back. "Here, boy," he whispers, patting his belly. "Be quick."

Duke tries to push his face inbetween his thighs a few times before before he finally seems to get the idea and gets into mounting position. His nails scrape his hips as he tries to find purchase.

Duke hunches against him, penis unsheathing and jabbing him in the vulva. Thankfully he gets it in sooner than usual. It slides right in like a skewer before it plumps up.

He bites his lip to keep from making too much noise. He's missed getting fucked so much, and the sight of his creamy little pussy getting plowed by a doggie dick is turning him on even more. Orgasm comes quickly, hard, making his body quiver with the effort to keep still. His fingers spread out on his belly then slide down, pressing down on his labia. The knot is starting to emerge, but this is no time to let it tie. It bumps against his fingers and goes no further.

After a minute of being unable to knot, Duke pulls off with doglike consideration. His nails scratch again on the inside of his leg and his cock is yanked out so roughly it stings. 

He stares up at the ceiling, catching his breath. Hears Duke shambling off to one corner or the other, then the grotesque slurping sounds. That was pretty good for a quickie, even though he still feels kind of antsy. But what can he do? Getting fucked is too risky, and touching himself just isn't the same...

Unless. He nervously fingers his slit. It's wet, partly by his own come, but there's a more watery feeling that must be Duke's come or pre-come. It probably wouldn't be noticeable as something else if he didn't already know it was there.

Maybe...

He stretches the ache out of his bones, runs the water, and dries some of the sweat off his body before returning to the living room. Hard to believe, but it's only been a few minutes. The lovey-dovey couple are just finishing up. The bad boy barely looks at him when he sidles back onto the couch.

"Babe..." He touches a knee and leans his body into his side, looking up with what he hopes is an appealing, seductive gaze. It's not one he's really tried to go for before. "I've just been thinking..."

The bad boy squints at him. "Thinking what?" There's a moderate slur to his words, and his breath reeks of alcohol.

He freezes for a second before reminding himself that everything is fine. And it is, he thinks, but his heartbeat makes his throat shake. "I feel so... hot, baby. I want you--I want your tongue," he adds quickly. Given the bad boy's disposition to softness when he drinks, he might take it as an insult, or, god forbid, flop around on top of him anyway. "Remember the first time you did it?" The only time. "How good you made me feel?" Just that once.

The bad boy's face slowly widens into a big dopey grin. "Yeah? Knew you were a... were a little slut. Like getting your fourteen year old pussy eaten, din'tcha?"

"Loved it," he solemnly agrees, sitting then laying back to make room for his spread legs. "The first time anyone made me come... a big handsome grown-up like you, making me like sex..." Something inside feels slightly bitter.

The bad boy's grubby hands go under his butt, and take a cheek in each hand. His patchy whiskers immediately begin to abrade the soft, delicate flesh of his mound and vulva in each place he mawlingly kisses. "Your cunt reeks of heat."

"Please. I need it so bad."

The first touch of tongue makes his back arch. It glides feather-light over his inner labia before burying in deep, squishing in his sensitive clit and he has _gotta_ be lapping up dog come. It almost makes him giggle. Moaning is wiser, and it does feel good, or rather, emotional exultation has him feeling good.

"Musta been so horny for me," bad boy mumbles into his sex, "you're fucking soaked."

It's so easy to be taken higher and higher as he's eaten out and **being** eaten out of until the dam breaks. He cries out with each wave until he's finally running on empty and the bad boy has swallowed up everything he has to give.

"Little slut," the bad boy grumbles again before one last swig of vodka and passing out. But at least he's never sucked dog semen out of anyone.

He starts growing thoughtful, over the next two months, as his belly starts to round again. Already in his life he has made one drastic change. Could he make another? 

The medicine in the cabinet pops out at him everytime he opens the mirror to grab his toothbrush. Innocuous little painkillers, but dangerous when mixed. Especially for an old boozehound who's slowing down. It'd be preferable if he just finally drank himself to death, but it has to be one or the other soon. Duke is starting to nip again.

And whatever state it's in from his own poor lifestyle habits, he thinks he wants to keep this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uuuh hey guys! Thank ya'll for reading this all the way through. Thanks for the kudos, the bookmarks, visible and not, even the subscriptions (don't know who you are but I appreciate your interest o u o).


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